Antiheroes
by Marchenplushie28
Summary: Maris wakes up in New York, unable to remember anything but her name, so she's off to find out who she is. Problem is, Sylar has captured her and is hell bent on figuring out how to kill her-because he can't. Sylar/OC Alternate Vol.2 DISCONTINUED
1. Chapter 1

**Description: **When Maris wakes up lying on a sidewalk in New York, she has no idea who she is or what she's doing there. She does know that she doesn't like having secrets kept from her though, and so she's off to find the truth. There's just one problem. Sylar has captured her and is hell bent on figuring out how to kill her and take her powers—because he can't. None of his powers even work on her. What is her power anyway?! The questions keep piling up and Maris is determined to find out all of the answers. SylarOC Alternate Vol. 2

_A/N: Before you start reading this story, I think it only fair to warn you that I am notorious for flaking out on stories halfway through. That, paired with the fact that I'm not quite positive where this story is going other than for a couple points, makes it a bit iffy if the story will ever be finished. Right now I do plan on writing it all the way through. In fact, I'm having quite a bit of fun with it.  
_

_Now, all that being said, I hope you enjoy the story.  
_

**Chapter One**

_Without memories, we could do nothing but wander aimlessly through life._

She woke with a start, eyes snapping open to the sound of blaring sirens. An ambulance whizzed by her as she jolted up into a sitting position, off the cold pavement of the sidewalk beneath her, just catching a glimpse of its retreating lights in the darkness. As they disappeared her eyes darted about, taking in the brick walls of the buildings around her, bathed in light from the street lamps.

Thoughts clamored in her mind, fighting for dominance, until one finally managed to wheedle its way in front of all the others. _Where's the ambulance going?_ (What really should've won out was: _Where the heck am I? _People don't always follow the most logical course of thought, however.)

Though it had disappeared around the street corner, she could still hear the sirens of the ambulance and they didn't seem to be getting any farther away now. She blinked blearily before pushing herself to her feet and stumbling forward towards the sight of whatever accident it had been rushing off to help.

When she turned the corner, she was met with a scene of post-chaos. People were gathered in a large square with a fountain in the middle still serenely pumping out water despite whatever had happened there. A large man was slumped against a pillar near the side of the square, red staining his shirt. Another man, dark skinned and bald, was being cradled in the arms of a blonde woman who was clearly close to hysterics. Others, uninjured or merely bruised, stood about aimlessly or embracing one another in relief.

The paramedics were rushing onto the scene and lifting the two injured men onto stretchers, hurrying them to the ambulance. In the commotion, no one seemed to notice something though. At first, she hadn't noticed it. It'd been like it wasn't even there. However as she surveyed the scene more closely she noticed the trail of blood leading from beside the fountain and over to a half open manhole. She slowly stumbled forward and over to it, staring down into the darkness. There was…shuffling coming from inside. She closed her eyes, listening closer, and suddenly she was below the ground and looking up at the dim light filtering down through the half open cover, a stench filling her nostrils.

There was wetness beneath her feet and she looked down to see that there were no shoes on them, angry red scratches coating them instead. In fact, every part of her exposed skin seemed to be covered in bruises and scratches. She grimaced, about to reach up and feel her face to see if it was in much the same condition, but before she could a curse was muttered from somewhere up the tunnel in a female voice.

Her feet seemed to move of their own accord, stepping forward and following the direction the voice came from. There was a slight sting in her feet now that she realized there were scratches there, but for the most part she was able to ignore it. A few moments passed walking in the damp, stinking tunnel, and she found herself able to make out a figure trudging away from her in the darkness. She began to speed up to a running pace, feet slapping the ground loudly. The figure paused for a moment, then the world in front of her sparked like a TV that had just short circuited before it returned to normal. The figure went rigid and spun around to face her.

Both the she and the figure took a few cautious steps towards each other. Though in the dim lighting it was hard to make out, she could now see that it was a rather large woman with shoulder length hair and a frown in place on her lips. "You can still see me?" the woman asked. She nodded slowly in response. "Damn it."

The woman reached behind her back, shrugging something off her shoulders as she did so, and a limp body hit the floor behind her with a loud thud. Grinning satirically, she pulled out a gun from her back pocket and said, "This isn't normally my style but…" Then she shot, and the girl who had only just found consciousness blacked out.

When she awoke she was standing at the entrance to an emergency room. It was still dark out and light flooded the area as three men all pushed their way outside. Two of them grabbed either of her arms, supporting her, while the other grabbed something that had fallen at her feet. It was the body. The body that had been with the woman.

She didn't have time to think about it though, as the men dragged her and the body through the emergency room doors. Her vision swam in front of her eyes as people in cool pastel colored uniforms relieved the men of her and pulled her down the hospital hallway. Everything past that was a complete blur.

She felt her fingers wrap around something cool, and then it was torn away. A sharp object sent a shock through her side, then disappeared and numbness washed over her. Lights seemed to flash on and off. People grabbed her arms with bruising grips. Voices crowded and screamed in her ears. Her chest felt heavy. She couldn't breathe. Air flooded into her lungs and violent coughing wracked her body. Then everything slowed down. Her breathing calmed and the voices quieted. All that was left was a faint, constant beeping. She lay like that, calmly breathing in and out until a strong male voice entered her consciousness.

"She should be fine," the voice said. "When she wakes up, get her something to drink and see if she can get down some food. Then you can tell her the news. Try and figure out what happened."

Another voice, this time softer and female said, "Yes, doctor."

Heavy footsteps signaled the doctor leaving, and she slowly opened her eyes to a bright white room. The soft female voice was quickly connected with a young woman with mousy brown hair and an excess of darkly defined freckles on the bridge of her nose. She was in a nurse's uniform, and as soon as she saw her patient's eyes open, she rushed over with a large, comforting smile.

"Hello," she said. "Are you feeling alright Maris?"

Words formed slowly—almost painfully. "Maris?" came the raspy reply.

"That's your name, isn't it?" the nurse asked. "That's what was written on the cell phone you had with you."

For a moment her mind stalled, then a flash of recognition came and she gave a small nod. "Yeah. Maris. That's my name."

"Good," said the nurse, and a look of relief washed over her face. "I'm just going to go grab you something to drink and then I'll be right back if you're sure you're fine, alright?" She smiled and began to step away, but Maris's hand shot out and wrapped around the nurse's wrist. The nurse gave a start, but kept the smile on her face and tilted her head to the side inquisitively. "Is there…something wrong?"

"What was the news?" Maris demanded, her voice still rasping.

"We don't need to talk about that now. You should get some food in you—"

"What's the news?!" Maris demanded again. She didn't like people to keep things from her. Not one bit. At that thought however, her grasp on the nurse loosened in surprise and the young woman scampered off out of the room. She hadn't known that she didn't like people to keep things from her just a minute ago. Maris searched her mind for the other facts and tidbits that one should know about oneself, but none were there. They were all gone. Everything. Memories, likes and dislikes, friends and family, and even her last name, were gone from her mind. All she knew about herself was this: her name was Maris, she didn't like people to keep secrets from her, and her whole past was a secret to herself.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hello all! I'm back with a new chapter (regrettably later than I wanted to be, but still back all the same). The hospital part of this is probably woefully unrealistic, but...well...it's fanfiction right? We just write it for fun. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter and be sure to review! :)_

_P.S. I won't be around for the next couple weeks, so I won't be updating again for a while. This story will probably just progress really slowly in general... Sorry about that. ;P_

**Chapter Two**

The nurse reentered the room after a few minutes, small tray in hand, generic hospital food on top, and the doctor in tow not far behind her. He held a clipboard in front of his chest, separating himself from the rest of the people in the room. Maris narrowed her eyes at him, ignoring the nurse who was setting down the tray beside her.

"Miss…" said the doctor, trailing off and waiting for her to respond with her last name. She didn't respond. Sighing, he continued. "I'm glad to see you up. Are you feeling alright? Any dizziness or noticeable pain?"

Maris replied deadpan, "No. What's the news?"

The doctor pulled a pen out of his pocket, writing down a quick note on his clipboard. "That man that came in with you…he's dead." He looked up, focusing his eyes on her own and asked, "What were you two doing?"

Maris's eyes widened fractionally, her chest tightening with worry. She dug back, trying to remember. Dead? Was he dead when the woman had been dragging him around? Had he died when she was bringing him to the hospital? She couldn't remember.

Her tongue darted out across her lips nervously, brow creasing in thought. "I—I want to see him," she told the doctor. He tapped the pen on the clipboard in annoyance, grimacing, and then gave a brief nod.

"Fine. Nurse, help her up and be careful not to let her rip those stitches in her shoulder. He's down in the morgue."

Maris had already swung her legs over the side of the bed and begun to stand up by the time the nurse managed to grab her arm, but Maris quickly shook her off. "I can walk by myself," she spat. Still, the nurse hovered beside her as they followed the doctor out of the room.

A few people paused to glance at her as she followed the doctor down the hallway and she self-consciously tugged at the back of the back of the hospital gown she had found herself in, but for the most part everyone was too wrapped up in their own activities to notice her. They came to a set of stairs that led down to a door and the doctor glanced back at her. "Be careful now." She nodded and followed the doctor down the stairs, gripping onto the side railing for support.

Once they reached the bottom of the stairs the doctor pulled a key out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and pulled it open, motioning for the nurse and Maris to go in ahead of him. They stepped through and he followed after, shutting the door behind them.

The room seemed to be empty except for a man standing beside one of the bare autopsy tables. He was just finishing buttoning up a white, slightly wrinkled dress shirt, fingers pushing the last button through the top hole. "Perfect," he muttered before looking up and smirking at the doctor. "Oh, hello doctor. Don't look so surprised. You people are always so quick to announce someone dead. You should really be a bit more careful with your declarations."

The doctor shook his head, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Y-you're supposed to be—!"

Laughing, the man shook his head back and forth. "Oh I know what I'm supposed to be. But you see I'm special. I'm Sylar." He lifted his hand, still smirking, and pointed a finger at the doctor. He whipped it through the air so quickly that it took Maris a moment to realize that as he did so the nurse and doctor had been slashed in half. Her eyes widened and she stumbled back as she watched the two bodies collapse to the ground, blood splattering everywhere.

Steps echoed in the room as Sylar walked towards her slowly. Her eyes focused on him in terror as she groped for the door knob behind her, but even when she found it, it refused to turn. "Don't bother trying to escape," he said quietly, placing his hands on either side of her head.

"What are you?"

He chuckled and replied, "Special, remember? And I believe you are Maris, correct?"

"How—"

"I heard those two idiots talking about it earlier," he said, nonchalantly flicking his eyes towards the dead doctor and nurse. "I also heard that you're the one that brought me to the hospital. Thank you." He let out a small chuckle, pressing a finger to her forehead, and she cringed pressing closer against the door.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, voice broken, fighting to keep calm. Her body was shaking all over, but she barely noticed.

"Well, normally I'd just kill you like the good doctor over there, but considering you saved me and all, I think I'll make this…special." With that, he began to slide his finger across her forehead and a sharp pain bit into her skin. A loud cry ripped itself from her throat and everything went black.

* * *

Waking up in different places than she blacked out was beginning to seem routine to Maris. She opened her eyes and blinked a few times, taking in the scene around her.

She was in a dimly lit room that looked like something in a cheap motel. There was a poorly made cabinet sitting against the front wall with an old TV on top that she was pretty sure had stopped working at least five years ago. A weak door sat next to it, chips taken out of the wood here and there. Across from the bed she was lying on, there was another bed that looked untouched bar the large duffel bag sitting on top of it. A small cube shaped area sticking out of the wall next to it with a door on the side seemed to be the bathroom.

The bathroom door opened and steam barreled out as the warm air in the room came into contact with the cold outside. Sylar stood in the middle of the doorway, towel wrapped around his waist. Maris shot up, only to be yanked back with a loud metal clang.

"Handcuffs," Sylar said pointedly, nodding to her left wrist. It was handcuffed to a hole in the headboard. She tugged at it futilely, the clanking filling her ears as the metal repeatedly slammed against the wood.

"Well, seeing as you can't get out of those cuffs, you certainly aren't able to teleport," Sylar commented, more to himself than her. "Can't become invisible or phase through things either, can you? And I know you don't regenerate like that blonde little cheerleader. What is your power anyway?" Sylar approached her slowly as he spoke, taking one deliberate step after another until he was right beside the bed she was laying on. "Why couldn't I kill you?" he asked. He leaned down, his breath hot on her face, and she shivered, tugging at the bottom of the hospital gown whose shortness she was suddenly painfully aware of.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she hissed, tugging at the handcuffs harder.

He smiled cruelly (the kind of smile that people give you when they're planning to do exceedingly nasty things to you) and replied to her question with another question. "You don't know much of anything do you?" Straightening up, he turned around and walked over to the other bed, opening the duffel bag and shuffling through it.

"Don't know who I am, don't know what I am, don't know what I'm talking about …" He pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt before zipping the bag back up. "Do you even know who you are?" he asked, turning around to face her again.

"I know perfectly well who I am!" she cried, lying through her teeth. "I'm Maris. And I don't like you." As soon as the words left her mouth a sense of dread filled her, but he didn't seem to be angry at the comment, only raising an eyebrow at it.

Shifting the clothes in his arms, he replied, "Good. It's mutual then."

Neither of them moved, unwilling to break their locked gazes, until a loud snap and thud sounded out. Maris twisted around with wide eyes to see a chair behind her wobbling back and forth with a newly broken leg. When she looked back at Sylar his lips had twisted into wicked smile that held on his face as he turned away from her and walked into the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Oh my gosh_ I'm finally updating. 0.0_

_Also, _oh my gosh_ it's even shorter a chapter than I usually write. Yeah. I am updating though, and I'll try and do another one in at least the next two months for any of you who are reading this. NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month for those of you who don't know) has got me in a writing mood, so hopefully the next one will be longer. ^_^_

**Chapter Three**

After he came out of the bathroom, he folded his towel into a neat square, placed in on the bed beside the duffel bag, and proceeded to walk out the door without so much as a glance her way. She'd listened closely, noting the crunch of gravel beneath his feet and, even more so, the lack of any other noise about. There were no voices, no whoosh of cars as they sped by on a nearby highway. There _was_ a bird chirping somewhere in the distance in what Maris considered as an exceedingly annoying pitch, but there was nothing to suggest that she would be being rescued from this madman any time soon. Still, once his steps faded away, she screamed until her throat gave out on her.

No one came, but she hadn't really been expecting them to. Madman though Sylar was, he certainly didn't look to be an idiot when it came to committing crimes.

For a while she lay still, trying to ignore the scratchy sheets on the bed, but her mind wouldn't stop. She had too much fear, too much adrenaline. Her heart was racing in her chest.

Carefully, she pulled herself up to examine the handcuff keeping her secured to the bed. There didn't seem to be a lot of hope for her in getting loose, but at least it gave her mind something to focus on.

Could she pick the lock? No, that wasn't even a reasonable option. Nothing to pick it with let alone the knowledge to do it. Maybe she'd known at one time, but not now.

It was too tight around her wrist to slip out—in fact, it was starting to chafe if the slight burning sensation that accompanied each movement of her wrist was any indication. Grimacing, she tried to wriggle a finger between the metal and her skin. It, however, refused to give way, not even willing to shimmy up the distance to a smaller, less abused part of her wrist. It was a wonder she still had circulation in the arm, in her opinion.

The wood to the headboard was no help either. Despite the rest of the room's furniture being cheap and flimsy, the headboard was actually decent and wasn't about to break with a little pulling. She yanked her wrist back sharply a few times to make sure, but there was no give to the wood.

"Damn it," she hissed, her head falling back with a thud. "Ow."

She yanked one last time, straining her wrist against the metal. Her wrist twisted in its binding and a sharp bite of pain shot down her arm. Red tinged the area around the cuff.

Maris swallowed a yelp of pain, pressing her lips tightly together. Darkness swarmed, overtaking her vision for a moment, and then the pain was gone. Her arm had jerked forward, the metal circlet no longer restraining it and the cuff itself had fallen to the bed, bouncing once before resting there quietly.

The creaking hinges of the door had her up on her feet before she could think about any of it, her eyes darting about, looking for something to use as a weapon. They first decent weapon that came into her vision was the broken off leg of the chair Sylar had so kindly decided to wreck earlier.

She dived across the bed, knees hitting the carpet so hard that if she hadn't gotten rug burn she would've thought it a small miracle. Her fingers wrapped around the broken piece of wood, noting that the splintered side would be painful to anyone hit with it, and jumped up only to have her newly claimed weapon ripped from her hands and fly across the room from her.

Right. Sylar could do things like that, couldn't he? So much for the battle plan.

She met his eyes defiantly despite the erratic beating of my heart. He was wearing something different now, she noticed. The clothes were cleaner, more stately, and there was a large pair of thick rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He still held himself the same though, with that slightly menacing, on the verge of madness, air about him.

"How did you get out?" he asked, undertones of annoyance beneath each word. "I thought you had no idea what powers I was talking about."

"I don't," she replied shortly.

He grimaced, closing the door behind him. "I don't like being lied to, you know," he said menacingly.

Maris took a step back, bracing herself for some sort of attack, but it never came. Instead, Sylar locked the door behind him and walked over to the duffel bag. He picked it up and slung it over his shoulder then turned to her.

"Now, here's the question," he said slowly. "And I think it would be in your best interests if you actually told the truth on this one." He narrowed his eyes, following the slight nervous movements she made as if he thought she'd pull out a knife in the next millisecond and stab him. Must be paranoid too, she thought.

"What's the question?"

He smiled at her sweetly then, almost mockingly, and asked, "We're going for a road trip. Are you going to come along with me like a good little girl, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?"

Screaming 'the hard way' and pulling out the previously mentioned (and nonexistent) knife was obviously out of the question, and so Maris hung her head in defeat and waited for orders.

Sylar walked her outside, one hand firmly gripping her wrist as they went, though from what she could see it wouldn't be much use if she ran. Her assumption that a savoir would not be coming around anytime soon had been all to correct.

The motel that he'd had them holed up in looked like it'd been abandoned for a while. The paint was worn down to a dull gray color and dirt had built up over that to give it an overall ancient feel. There was a parking lot surrounding it, but that was covered in weeds and had obviously been neglected even when the motel was being used, and the rest of the surroundings simply consisted of trees. Nondescript, tall trees, that looked to go on for miles without end.

The only thing that looked like it had any recent relation to humanity was the jeep sitting in the corner of the lot. That, however, was exactly what Sylar was dragging her towards at the current moment, and so held no comfort whatsoever.

"Get in the passenger seat," he ordered as he tossed the duffel bag in the back and released her hand. She shuffled up to the passenger's door, wondering if she could make a break for it once he got in the car and buckled. His powers might not work through the vehicle. If she was going to pull a stunt like that it would be better to wait until there were people around though. He'd be less likely to do something horrible with so many witnesses, right? She slid into the passenger's seat, buckling her seatbelt as he turned the key in the ignition and started up the car.

"Is it going to be a long trip?" she chanced.

Sylar shifted the car into reverse, backing up out of the space they were in before he turned to her and said, "You'll just have to wait and see." This, in Maris's opinion, was probably the most horrible answer he could give to that question—it was almost worse than not answering it—and that, in Maris's opinion, was most likely why he gave it. Smug bastard.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **_Yesss, I am actually updating when I said I would update. I'm so happy._

_So...this chapter is mostly just wandering around with Sylar and Maris, but I promise we'll get some more characters in the next one. Actually, they show up at the very end of this one. They are my favorite characters (other than Sylar, of course), since whenever they come on I always get to review my (non-English) language skills. XP  
_

_Thanks to the people who have been reviewing. It's always nice to hear what people think. :)_

**Chapter Four**_  
_

They drove for two hours—two excruciatingly mind numbing hours—until Sylar acknowledged her again. They were on a freeway, though there was a fairly low amount of traffic out at the time. They'd passed out of the really thick trees and onto a decent road after about an hour of driving, and now Sylar seemed to be falling into a hypnotic, monotony induced state. "Talk," he ordered bluntly, eyes darting over to look at her for a moment.

She glanced up, blinking out of the trance she had worked herself into, then asked, "About what?"

"Anything." He flipped on the blinker and moved over to the middle lane, allowing a driver coming in on the entrance ramp to enter without having to slow down. "When did you first discover your power?" he asked.

"I still don't know what you're talking about," she sighed. He looked skeptical, but she supposed he'd grown tired of pressing the point. Instead of reiterating the question he let out a sigh of his own and leaned back in his seat, stretching out his legs. A dangerous thing to do on the freeway, but she neglected to comment.

Straightening back up in his seat, he said, "I didn't know I had one until I was older. I met this man—Dr. Suresh. He told me I was…" Sylar chuckled, his lips quirking into a wicked grin. "He told me I was special."

Maris could feel the atmosphere in the car begin to shift, that odd unbalanced nature of his resurfacing. "There's a car behind us. Tailgating, I think," she cut in, trying to keep him from falling completely back into that dark hole of madness. He turned to glance over his shoulder.

"Yes. I see."

"You should slow down." He didn't listen. In fact, he pressed down harder on the accelerator, increasing the car's speed.

She slouched down in her seat, gripping at the sides and taking a deep breath to calm herself. "Is—is being special important to you?" she managed to work out. Her eyes were darting everywhere, looking for possible conflicts that could be coming up. The speedometer had risen to 95mph and the car behind was still tailgating them.

"Being special is everything," he replied. He pressed down harder on the accelerator. The speedometer hit 115. "If I'm not special, I'm nothing."

His words hung heavily in Maris's mind as she took in the full extent of their meaning. _If I'm not special, I'm nothing._ It was an incredibly definitive statement, and looking at him, examining his fierce expression, she could tell it was a completely honest one. As her next words separated themselves from her lips, she came to the conclusion that her personality was somewhere in the realm of suicidal.

"It doesn't matter if you're special or not. You're still nothing," she whispered, and that was all it took to break the remaining bit of the calm he'd had only moments before.

Sylar slammed on the break. The car skidded, spinning around to face the oncoming car behind them. It crashed into them head on and the airbags exploded into existence. Maris screamed. Her head hit something, she wasn't sure what, and red liquid was dripping before her eyes. She blacked out.

In a moment she was back to reality, though dazed, and Sylar was pulling her out of the car. She stumbled along, across the road, just glimpsing the wreckage of the other car before an oncoming vehicle swerved around them, the driver cursing violently. Maris too mumbled a few of her own choice words, slinging them at Sylar as quickly as her stunned senses would allow.

"_What_ was that about?" she cried, stumbling out of his grasp. They were on the side of the road by then, thankfully, and out of any immediate danger. Maris stumbled forward a few steps and then plopped down onto the ground, rubbing her sore, throbbing head. There was no blood anymore, she noted vaguely as she watched Sylar attend to his own wounds. He continually glanced up at the road, watching for cars to stop.

"You said I was nothing," he hissed as he ripped off the coat he was wearing and wrapped it around a shallow looking gash in his arm.

"So you _crash the car_?" she asked. He ignored the question, instead making his way over to where she had plopped down and grabbing hold of her arm.

"Come on." He pulled her gruffly to her feet and tugged her towards the wood. "I don't want the police getting involved."

They stumbled on for a while, Maris considering any possibilities of escape. Before, when he'd been more dazed, would've been the ideal time, but she'd been even less lucid than him at that point. Honestly, she figured that he was still more in control of his senses than her as he was the one leading them through the maze of trees. It was however, entirely possible that he had no idea where he was going or what he was doing either. He could be faking it.

If he was, he had impeccable luck.

They reached the edge of the labyrinth of trees to find themselves directly before a small, roadside diner. Sylar scanned the cars in the parking lot, presumably looking for police vehicles and, seeing none, turned to Maris. She straightened up defiantly, taking a deep breath in to calm herself and trying to gather herself together. She expected him to sling another threat, to do something horrible, so his next movement sent her mind reeling.

He reached out, fingers brushing across the side of her neck, and she froze, startled. His touch was almost gentle. She watched his eyes darting about, searching her, and then his mouth set itself into a thin line. "Night night," he said and, grabbing a fistful of her hair in his hand, slammed her head against a tree behind her. She gasped, hand flying up as a shield between herself and unforgiving wood. He slammed her into it again, and the world fizzled, died slowly, went black. Then it came back, his cruel set features returning to her vision. He hit her against it again. The world fizzed, died, was back. Again. Fizzed, died, came back. Again.

She dropped to the ground, shuddering violently as he released her. She gasped in air, lungs burning and head throbbing. He kneeled beside her on the dirt, but she didn't look up, focusing on the dirt beneath her fingers, trying to collect enough of herself to stand up and run. Her hands wouldn't even push her wobbling legs up more than a half inch though.

By then, she thought the tears would be forming in her eyes, but none came. She sobbed dry eyed, without tears, and she thought vaguely that it was a lot like dry heaving, except worse. Not physically, of course, but somehow it _was_ worse.

"You aren't like the cheerleader," she could hear him saying, but his voice seemed detached. "So what are you?"

She sobbed in again, trying to regain control of herself in the least, and attempted to make herself as small as possible before him. "What…?" he asked again, voice a mere murmur. His fingers brushed against where he'd been slamming her into the tree and she flinched away. When his fingers followed and pressed harder into her skull, she began to realize that it didn't hurt like it should. There should have been blood, been pain, but there was only a quickly dulling ache there. Sylar noted this as well, and said, "Well, at least I know I can't kill you the normal way now." He grinned as he stood, towering above her, mood shifting again in that whirlwind way of his. "I'm on way to figuring you out. And when I do, your power will be mine, and you will be _dead_."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment longer, and then unwrapped the coat from around his wounded arm. He pulled her back ten feet or so, dragging her body, which was still numb from shock, to a fairly skinny tree out of view of the restaurant. Here, her arms were pulled around behind her to wrap tightly about the tree, and her wrists secured together with the coat.

Sylar stood back, almost seeming to admire his handiwork, and then pulled from his pocket a kerchief, which pressed into her mouth, tying it around the back of her head. When he finished, he stayed kneeling beside her for a moment, and said quietly, "Now don't try to run off, alright? Someone might get hurt if you do."

There was no reply she could give to this, even if she wanted to. Maris leaned back against the tree and, as she could no longer get in much air through her mouth, worked on keeping calm enough to breathe through her nose.

As she regulated her breathing and he walked away, leaving her abandoned for a moment, she contemplated the lengths of his insanity. Would he really hurt other people? Her eyes slid closed and she let out a bitter, muffled laughing sound. Of course he would hurt people—he had kidnapped her, crashed a car because she said he wasn't special, and tried to kill her repeatedly. That wasn't even a valid question, and what did that mean for her? If she could get out, should she go? If she—

There was a rustling in the trees a bit off, and Maris froze, eyes turning in the direction that the sound was coming from. Someone hissed something that sounded like a curse, but it definitely wasn't in English. "Where are we? This is not where we should be!" someone exclaimed. The accent to it, she couldn't quite place, but it was a _person_ and Sylar wasn't around.

Maris glanced in the direction of the restaurant, then over to where the sounds where, and made a split second decision. She was someone too, and she sure as heck wasn't going to sit back and let Sylar kill her.


End file.
